Snow Angels
by damnitjillkatherine
Summary: Snowball fight! Rated for language.


**Snow Angels  
><strong>Disclaimer: Not mine.  
>Rating: PG-13 for language<br>Summary: Snowball fight!

* * *

><p>1996<p>

Dean awoke to the freezing sensation of a snowball being shoved down the front of his shirt. He cursed and thrashed, knocking himself clear off the cheap motel sofa. He was on his feet in an instant, determined to wipe the shit-eating grin off a certain thirteen-year-old face. Sam laughed and bolted for the door, quickly ducking behind the Impala, where he had built up an arsenal. As Dean came under fire, he was torn between the desire to retaliate and the reluctance to throw things at the car. Dad would kill him if it got dented. Sam's fourth snowball found its mark on Dean's chest.

"Oh, that's it. You are _dead, _squirt!" Dean launched himself across the hood and onto his little brother. Sam's yells of protest turned into howls of laughter as the older boy tickled him into submission. Soon, they were both soaked and out of breath, lying in the snow.

"You fight dirty," said Sam.

"Damn straight I do," Dean replied. Sam rolled his eyes and then stretched out in a relatively unspoiled patch of powder.

"Ch-check it out," he chattered, spreading his arms and legs wide," sn-snow angels-s!"

"Okay kid, time to inside," said Dean, standing up. "When your molars start rattling, we're done out here." Sam tried to protest.

"B-but I'm not th-that c-c-cold!"

"Bullshit, Sammy. Your lips are blue. Let's go, Dad'll kill me if you get pneumonia."

…

Thirty minutes later, the boys' wet clothing had been thrown in a pile and warm pajamas had been dug out of the duffels. Sam had even taken a hot shower, but he was still shivering. Dean turned on the TV, draped the blanket from their dad's unused bed over their own, and pulled his little brother in close under the covers. After a few minutes of what Dean would vehemently deny was snuggling, the smaller boy's jaw finally stopped chattering.

"Feel better?"

"Mm-hmm," he responded, tugging the blankets up and burrowing closer to Dean's chest. The older boy tightened the arm around Sam's shoulder and dropped a swift kiss onto the top of his head. Dean thought he heard something that sounded suspiciously like a muffled 'love you' and smiled. As a bad sci-fi movie played on the TV, Dean drifted off to sleep feeling warm, comfortable, and needed.

…

2011

The Winchesters sat on the hood of the Impala, watching the snow fall from a deep grey sky. Dean had a beer, as usual, but Sam was content just savoring the muffled sounds of winter. As the sun started to go down, Dean began to get restless.

"Can we go now? My hands are freezing," he whined.

"Then put the beer down. And no," said Sam, eyes closed, voice laced with irritation.

"Oh, I'm sorry princess, am I ruining your Zen moment?"

"Yes, actually. Now quit bitching."

"Giant friggin' girl," Dean mumbled, reaching through the open driver's side window to put his beer in a cupholder. As he blew on his fingers to warm them up, he was struck by what seemed like an awesome idea at the time.

Sam's 'Zen moment' was interrupted a second time by a slush ball to the back of the head. He yelped as ice slid into his collar.

"Dean! What the hell?" he yelled, sliding off the car. His brother stood behind the trunk, grinning like an idiot.

"Payback's a bitch, ain't it, Sammy?" he threw another slush ball at Sam's chest.

"Payba- Dean, are you talking about the snowball fight we had when I was thirteen? That was fifteen damn years ago!" He ducked as a handful of ice was lobbed in his direction.

"No statute of limitations on revenge, bitch!" Dean scooped up a double handful of dirty snow.

"You are insane. Jerk," Sam muttered as he dodged again. A second slush ball thrown in quick succession caught him square in the stomach. "Oh that is _it._" Sam's long legs gave him a speed advantage, and before Dean could even try to make his escape, he found himself facedown in a snow bank.

"Hey! You fight dirty," Dean protested as he struggled. Sam kept a knee in his back.

"No, I'm just bigger than you now, you idiot." Dean garbled profanities and then screamed like a girl when Sam stuffed slush up the back of his shirt. The younger Winchester doubled over with laughter, making it easy for his enraged brother to shove him down into the snow. But Sam soon had the upper hand again, pinning Dean to the ground, face up this time.

"Alright, alright, you win! Now lemme up, ya moose." Sam stood, offered Dean a hand up, then realized the other man's jaw was vibrating.

"You okay?" asked Sam.

"F-F-Fine," Dean chattered, "no th-thanks to you, b-bi-bitch."

"Alright, let's go. I am _not _taking care of you if you get pneumonia. You're a terrible patient." Dean tried for a witty retort, but his teeth were rattling too hard. He was even shaking so much that Sam had to drive them back to the motel.

…

Once in the room, Dean shed his soaked clothes immediately and headed for the shower. The hot water lasted all of ten minutes, not nearly long enough for him to feel warmed. By the time he'd toweled off and put on dry clothes, he was shivering again.

Sam had swapped his damp jeans for a pair of sweatpants and was sitting at the table doing research. He looked up when Dean exited the bathroom, still looking miserable, and remembered what had happened after their last snowball fight. Sam closed the laptop. He pulled the blanket off his own bed, draped it over Dean's (the one directly in front of the TV, of course), grabbed the remote, and crawled under the covers.

"C'mere," he motioned to Dean. His brother's eyes widened.

"No fuckin' way," he protested, although it sounded more like "Doe fuggin' way."

"Dude, if I have to listen to you piss and moan all night, I _will_ smother you. Get over here." Dean gave him one last murderous look before reluctantly climbing under the blankets, only putting up a small fight when Sam slid an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in close.

"Sudje a fuggin' girl," Dean grumbled.

"Shut up and pick a channel," Sam said. Ten minutes later, Dean had finally settled on a Steve McQueen movie he'd seen twelve times. He'd also finally stopped shivering. Sam saw his eyelids start to droop and tightened his arm in a brief hug.

"Quit movin', 'm tryin' t'sleep," Dean murmured. "Bitch." Sam chuckled.

"Love you too, jerk."


End file.
